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from Elena’s account, ordering champagne, clothes, spa treatments, electronics.
The refrigerator was empty. My wife’s hands were trembling. And upstairs, my daughter was livestreaming her new designer bag, bought with the money meant for food. “Dad won’t do anything,” Mia whispered to her boyfriend.
When Elena protested, Mia called her confused.
When Elena tried to call me, Mia said, “Do you want Dad to know you’re falling apart?”
The worst part came quietly.
“She told me you’d be ashamed of me,” Elena said.
I kissed her hand. “She lied.”
